


Hot Redhead and Mature Man Play Strip Poker and Fuck! (Ft. Cherry Poppin)

by Cutiebat



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Acephobia, Adult Video, F/M, Ford is repressed af, Homophobia, I just realized that the tags have been unintentionally implying stan/cest, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, Low Self-Esteem, Mentions of incest, Smut, Stan Pines Needs A Hug, arophobia, but like, do NOT tag as stan//cest!!, feel like I should mention that, for my sanity, ford is ace, just so you know, no actual incest takes place, nothing but PLATONIC BROTHERLY LOVE happens between them, please, slight angst, smut in the second chapter, specifically sex-favorable ace
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:09:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28022193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cutiebat/pseuds/Cutiebat
Summary: Stan and Ford visit Vegas to finish off their trip out to sea before heading home. But then they are approached by this strange man who offers them a chance to act in a porno. There's a cute redhead and a couple thousand dollars. How could Stan resist?(The more I look at this title, the stupider it gets but porn titles are inherently stupid so in my hubris, I refuse to change it. I hope you are scarred.)
Relationships: Stan Pines/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	1. Setting Up

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! First ever actual smutfic! Here we go! This was originally gonna be reader-insert, but I wanted to be Stan-centric in this one. Maybe Ford-centric too.  
> Anyways, mention of incest but no actual incest occurs. Obviously, this fic is for adults only. If you under 18, go watch some cat videos or something.  
> (Don't ask me how long it took to write this chapter btw)

The lights in Vegas were as blinding as Stan remembered them. Flickering neons crowded them all around in pinks, blues, greens, and reds. The alcohol that once inebriated him has dissipated into a gentle buzz with no probing headache, thanks to Ford’s foresight of buying bottled water and snacks. 

Their trip around the world is almost over, but Stan couldn’t resist the callings of Vegas and has begged Ford to let them finish their journey off with a bang. Ford kept refusing until Stan pulled out the old ‘well, if you’re not coming, I guess I’ll just go all by myself’ excuse. Images of his twin brother lying bloodied and beaten on the concrete grounds outside of a casino unconscious filled Ford’s mind. Now he  _ has _ to go if he wants to keep his brother alive. And even if Stan wasn’t going to take a one-way trip towards hell without Ford’s guidance, he could still lose a good chunk of their earnings and make the trek back to Gravity Falls a nightmare. They could survive it, sure. But why survive when you can thrive? Especially after all of those years when the two had fought for even just a smidge of food and a penny? As far as they’re concerned, they are retired, and retired people are supposed to be living their last few years to the fullest. Heck, isn’t that why they retire in the first place?

And thus, Ford has his arm slung over Stan’s shoulder, barely walking, much less making coherent sense. He used to be a hard drinker, able to take down the strongest of booze. It seems like being trapped between dimensions has left him out of the game, and Ford has made the mistake of jumping back in as if he was the expert he once was. 

“And t-that’s how I lost my anal virginity! B-Because of algebra and being a  _ good _ teacher! Math solves everything! Even sex. If y-you can’t get laid, just use math!” Stan stifled a hard laugh, careful not to drop his brother.

“Jeez, Ford. Who knew in college you’d end up to be a slut? Lucky you!” Ford wrapped an arm around and grabbed Stan’s collar.

“Well, I was always compared to  _ you! _ ” Ford pointed a finger at him accusingly as if it was Stan’s fault and not everyone else’s for comparing them to each other. “I had to be smart! I had to be the good twin! Everyone’s like  _ ‘Ohhhh~! Good boy, Stanford! Don’t ever disappoint us! Don't do p-premarital sex! Don't be a homo! Don’t do naughtyyyy things!’  _ What if I  _ wanted _ to do naughty things, huh!? I’m my own person! If I w-wanted to get  _ fucked _ in the ass by a bunch of jocks, then fucking hell! I’m gonna do it! If I wanted to f-finger a bunch of girls and they teach me how to give them cuni- cunny- cunnilingus, then fucking hell! I’m gonna do it! If I wanted to visit the fucking back-alley glory holes that the stupid, good-for-nothing, ‘Fuckupsmore’ has, then fucking hell!  _ I’m gonna fucking do it!” _

Stan couldn’t contain his laughter anymore and had to let go of Ford so he can clutch his belly. Ford joined in the fits of giggles as he sank down to the ground clumsily. Stan knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder, and wiped a couple tears from his eyes. 

“Oh my f-fucking  _ god,  _ Stanford! You really are an all-star!” Ford let out a couple more giggles before bursting into song, soon joined by Stan.

_ “Hey now! You’re an all-star! Get your game on! Go! Play!” _ Stan managed to pull Ford up, and the two stumbled along the sidewalk in an attempt to dance-walk back to the hotel. 

“Well, it looks like you two are having fun tonight,” chuckled an unfamiliar voice. Alarms rang off in Stan’s head, but he played it cool and nonchalantly turned around to face a greasy middle-aged man wearing purple-gradient shades at night. 

“Yeah, we’re just spending our last few years on Earth like it’s our birthday. Don’t mind us.” Stan waved a dismissive hand and walked off, dragging Ford behind. Conversation over.

“I couldn’t help but hear about your friend’s conquests.” Ford perked up at the sound of those words.

“Why yes! I was quite t-the explorer in my college days! And I haven’t even gotten to the times when I was stuck between dimensions!” The stranger laughed, clearly not believing the ravings of a drunk old man but is amused nonetheless. 

“I’m sure. In fact, I think you would be the perfect fit for a video me and my crew are shooting.” Confusion rattled in Ford’s head as he pondered why they would want him. Stan, thanks to his years of street smarts and current soberness, caught on the instant those words left the stranger’s mouth and slipped back into the conversation before Ford could. 

“What happened to the actor you hired?”

“Ah, well. He, unfortunately, died of a heart attack during the last shooting. I think the scene was a little... Too extreme for someone his age.” Stan busted out in laughter only to quickly quiet himself when the man’s silence permeated his senses. 

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Anyways, it’s impertinent we find a replacement soon, and we require someone who looks mature enough for the scene we are shooting.”

“I see. Well, I’m afraid I can’t offer my services and my brother’s too drunk to even offer anything, to begin with. Sorry ‘bout that.” Before he could saunter off, Stan’s ears perked when he heard the following words.

“That’s too bad. And I was only going to offer a meager sum of a couple thousand dollars. The redhead will be so disappointed when she finds out we won’t be able to film anything tonight.” Stan slowly turned around and straightened his back. 

"I'm listening."

Fortunately for Stan, they didn't have to walk. They drove to a suspicious building inside a suspicious car, but Stan couldn't care less. The promise of money and a cutie was too good to pass up. The only trouble he has right now is Ford's alcohol-induced state, to which Ford offered a tip that adrenaline helps sober up a subject. During the drive, Stan tried to get him as excited as possible. 

"We're going to a studio!"

"Yes."

"We're gonna fuck some babes!"

"Indeed," Ford giggled. 

"And," Stan paused for dramatic effect before grabbing Ford by the shoulders. "We're getting paid for it!" He shook him violently, forcing laughter to erupt from him. Ford wasn't exactly excited by the idea of sex or money, already fulfilled by those throughout his life. Still, Stan’s enthusiasm was helping the alcohol's effects to slowly fade away along with the snacks and water he was consuming. 

The car parallel parked along the street, and Stan opened the door on his side while dragging Ford out. Ford muttered in pain and amusement, complaining that he could get out just fine now that he's sobering up. Stan insisted that this helps it even more before nearly falling backwards under Ford's weight. The man chuckled at their antics and guided them to the entrance. When they reached the door, a thought popped into Stan's head.

"Hey." The man turned to him as he opened the door. "The name's Stan. This guy is Ford."

The man hummed in affirmation. "Nice to meet you. We'll use fake names during the shoots, so don't worry about your identity being exposed."

"Won't really help, but thanks anyway," Stan replied. The man nodded and they walked inside. The three wandered into an elevator, and the man pressed the button for the fifth floor. A chime went off, the doors closed, and Stan felt the telltale drop in his stomach as the elevator traveled upwards.

“So, uh,” Stan mumbled. “Aren’t you gonna give us your name?”

“Hm? Oh, just call me Ted.”

“Ah. Nice to meet you, Ted.” Stan was suspicious it was an alias but went along with it. Nobody really wants to be known as someone in the porn business. It’s fair he would use a fake name.

“Are you the director or something?”

“No, I’m just an agent. The director prefers to live a more private life, only known by the crew and I.” 

“Is he famous?”

“... No. But our studio is popular. We’ve made plenty of videos that have garnered many views.” Stan suspected that was a lie but shrugged it off. He could help change that. 

A chime went off and the doors slowly slid open. Stan and Ted walked out, Ford amiably shuffling behind, the sleeve of his coat held onto by Stan as a sort of leash. Ford had a tendency to wander off when he gets drunk, letting his curiosity get the better of him. More so than usual. They walked up to a foggy, glass door and Ted unlocked it with a key. 

Inside was a studio lined with lights, cameras, all pointed at a fake living room with a glass door, behind it a green screen. There was a small, round, wooden table with two chairs, and to its right was a large, white couch. Several people stood about, most of them men, few women. All in all, it looked very professional.

One person caught Stan’s eye. A young lady with bright, red hair, obviously dyed and neatly kept in a short flapper-sort-of bob cut, was sitting cross-legged on a chair while reading a magazine. She had very pale skin and saturated, red lips pursed as if she was in deep thought. She was petite and thin, wearing only a black, fluffy robe. She didn’t look real. In fact, she looked like she was pulled out of a drawing from a vintage Playboy mag. Nervousness and shame flooded over Stan. 

On the one hand, there was nothing more he could want than to spend some fun time with her, innuendo or not. But on the other, she was clearly out of his league. Not to mention the sudden fear he felt at the thought of accidentally  _ breaking _ her. She looks like a porcelain doll, ready to shatter the moment he fucks up. 

Suddenly, as if her sixth sense fired off, she snaps her head up towards Stan and he felt her piercing gaze rather than see it. It didn’t feel like she was looking directly into his eyes through his glasses. It felt worse. It felt like she was looking into his ego, superego, id, into his soul. It was worse than getting caught naked, not like Stan could ever understand people’s prudence, though now he might have an inkling as to why.

"You found someone?" Muttered a voice, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned to see a small group of people huddled together with Ted. 

"Yes, one is drunk at the moment, but the other is completely sober and has consented to perform." A tan, blonde man stroked his chin in thought and turned to face Stan. Stan casually waved to him. After a couple moments, as if to survey him, the man nodded.

"Good one, Ted. Not the best in the looks department, but he's not horrifying. He'll do." Stan felt a pain in his chest at those words but ignored it. He's old. Beauty rarely comes with age. 

"We ought to get the other to film once he's sober. He, on the other hand, is very handsome. He'll do quite nicely."

“He also has plenty of experience,” said Ted.

“Even better. Get him some food and water. And let’s get this fella here on-screen and over with, alright?”

Okay. Wow. It was bad enough to be insulted, but to be compared at the same time? If he could, he would punch the fucker in the face for that. A woman standing next to him slapped the back of her hand against the blonde’s chest. Seems like she has noticed that Stan was within hearing range. He glared at her, looked at Stan, and casually walked over with a charming smile. 

“Why hello there! Are you Stan? Nice to meet such a handsome lad such as yourself!”  _ Fucking poser,  _ Stan thought. 

“Nice to see someone appreciates my looks,” he retorted, venom dripping in his tone. The man blinked in surprise before brushing it off quickly.

“Yes, well, thank you for participating in our shoot today, sir. Please, call me Michael Von Kich. I’m the director. Now, tell me. Have you any experience in the erotic film industry?”  _ Erotic film indu- how pretentious can this fake-ass bitch get? Is Von Kich even a name? _

“Uh, well, I used to strip when I was a lot younger. Does that count?” This certainly took the man by surprise.

“Oh. Well, perhaps? I guess having an audience won’t  _ freak _ you out or anything, right?” The man gestured robotically as he spoke, something that annoyed Stan heavily. He would fit in well with politicians and those middle-aged white women who always griped at him for the inappropriate jokes he set up in the Mystery Shack and the lack of refunds. No wonder he needed an agent in order to get new actors. This guy had zero appeal.

“Not at all,” Stan replied. Michael looked very pleased.

“Great!” He clasped his hands together animatedly. “Great. Well then. The dressing room is over there. Here.” Micheal grabbed a bag nearby that was sitting on a table next to others.

“This is your outfit for the shoot. Wouldn’t want your clothes to dirty, now would we?” He wiggled his eyebrows at the euphemism and Stan snorted before hastily grabbing the bag. He walked over to the dressing room, but not before stealing one last glance at the girl in the robe. Their eyes met and she held his gaze. He waved. A very small, shy wave. She stared for a bit longer before nonchalantly looking at her magazine again. Didn’t seem like he made much of an impression on her, much to Stan’s remorse.

It wasn’t hard to find the dressing room, considering it had a sign on it labeling it as such. He walked right in and closed the door behind, not bothering to lock it. He had no shame whatsoever. So what if someone walks in on him? They’re going to see much worse than that.

_ Yeah, much worse…  _ Stan thought, the pain he felt earlier coming back, twisting and knotting in his gut. He grunted and ripped off his clothes and shoved them aside. The entire time, his thoughts swam. Thoughts about what kind of scene they were shooting, what sort of kinks they will fulfill today, how long it will take, what outfit she was going to wear. What she will look like underneath those clothes. How she will take them off. How she will take his clothes off. What she will think when she sees his naked body. How she will handle it. How she feels about it. 

Will she like it? Will she like him? 

Will she scream and say no? Will she halt the shoot entirely, saying this was a lost cause to begin with and storm off?

Stan shook his head and slapped his cheeks.  _ Enough bullshit, idiot! You’re getting a chance to fuck a goddamn goddess and all you can think about is getting rejected? Idiot!  _ He sighed, shoulders drooping, and looked in the mirror at his naked form. 

There isn’t much to look at. He’s fat. Hairy. Wrinkly. His legs are way too skinny. Hands too large. Ears and nose too. He’s saggy and heavy. Has a resting bitch face. Has too many scars all over, including two on his lip of all places. 

Another heavy sigh. He tore his glance away from the mirror, determined not to look at it until he was fully dressed.  _ She won’t be impressed with my looks, but she  _ will  _ be impressed with my skills.  _ It’s been a long while since his last hook-up.  _ Shut up, brain. You’ve never been useful. _

He opened the bag and pulled out the first piece of clothing he felt. A beige sweater vest. He glared at it with one eyebrow raised and tossed it away. He rummaged around some more and found a white button-up, a belt, and brown slacks. No underwear.  _ Eh, I guess that makes sense.  _ He dressed, making sure he doesn’t rip any seams in case they decide to reuse the clothes. It was a snug fit. He couldn’t even get the top buttons on his shirt to function, so he left it open. 

He took one more look in the mirror. With his watch, medallion, shoes, the outfit was complete. He looked…  _ Handsome. I look handsome and that’s that.  _ He shoved the rest of his clothes in the bag, left the tacky sweater-vest behind, and marched out.

He approached Ford, who was sitting on a couch that faced the scene, and set the bag next to him.

“Hey,” Stan said softly. “How ya feeling?” Ford shrugged.

“Better. I believe the alcohol’s effects have mostly disappeared by now.” Stan nodded and leaned against the wall, taking in the scenery. He’s never done porn before and was, admittedly, curious to see how it was made. 

“Nervous?” Ford asked.

“Nah.” 

“You look good,” Ford complimented, giving him an encouraging smile. Stan gave a small one back.

“Yeah. I do.” Certain words from earlier echoed in his head and Stan rubbed the back of his neck.

“They’re thinking about making you participate. You in?” Ford blushed and looked down at his hands.

“I uh…” He stuttered. “I-I’m not sure. I don’t want to be… e-exposed.” Stan nodded.

“Fair.” A pause. He shoved his hands in his pockets and stole a glance at the director, now talking to the girl. 

She was sitting up straight, legs remained crossed, and her hands gently folded on her lap. Stan suspected he was giving her orders of what to do in the following scene, but the dynamics they gave off were flipped. Michael obviously felt very in-charge and dominant, but his aura proved otherwise. Unlike hers, which overpowered him. It looked less like a director telling a porn actress when exactly she should start undressing. Instead, it was more like a princess receiving news from a haughty duke who doesn’t know his place.

Occasionally, she would nod and give a coy laugh, the tips of her fingers gently touching her lips. Few more seconds of talking passed until Michael walked off with a skip in his step. The girl immediately resumed wearing the neutral expression on her face and went back to reading her magazine.

Ever since the incident with Darlene, the spider-woman, Stan has been paying more attention to women. How they talked with him, how they talked with others, and especially how those interactions would compare. He spoke with Mabel and Wendy and asked them how they deal with men. In his research, he concluded that all women, regardless of age, deal with stupid men every single day, and they act nice so they don’t get hurt. Men think they know everything, and that makes them somewhat easier to deal with if you know the right words. 

Stan shuddered, and the memories of being tied up in Darlene’s silk and her manipulation swarmed his head. Was she the expert master of flirting and psychology? Or was he just foolish? Another unwelcome thought popped in. The possibility that the girl will be all smiles, carefully piecing her words together to appease Stan. Just so he can be happy, leave satisfied, and she will never have to deal with him again. He’ll be another idiotic mess to her, an annoyance. A joke. 

Stan looked at Ford, who was staring at the tablets some of the people were using. Ford had less lady-luck than Stan did, until Stan remembered his college tales. But did he ever get dates? He probably didn’t. He’s awkward and extremely nerdy. Heck, he never had even  _ shown _ interest in dates. Sex? Yes, a little. But not for the emotions that came with it. The complete opposite of Stan. He crossed his arms.

“They like that you got experience.” Ford blushed and stared at Stan, who was glaring at nothing in particular. 

“R-Really?”

“Yeah. And they think you look really handsome. Better than me.” Ford stared at him, mouth agape.

“But… We have the same face.”

“Tch. Yeah.” Stan stormed off, leaving a very confused and worried Ford behind. 

He approached Michael, now leaning over a cameraman, probably talking about the angle of the camera or whatever.

“Hey,” Stan called. Michael glanced up and flashed a smile, the sort a news-reporter would wear.

“Why, Stan! Don’t you dress up nicely!” Stan waved his hand as if he was shooing a fly away.

“Ah, save your compliments for the actress. I was wanting to know what sort of scene we were doing.”

“Well, we have many ideas actually.” Michael pulled out a folded list from his back pocket and smoothed it out. “Our most favorite one is this. Picture it: You’re an uncle and finally! It’s your niece’s 18th birthday! You’ve always had your eyes on her and now she is finally legal. She is curious about sex and you graciously offer the chance to take away her v-card. Deep down, she realizes that she is a repressed slut and she is now obsessed with her uncle. How’s that sound?”

Stan wanted to throw up.

He regretted not taking out his hearing aid the moment Michael said “uncle,” even though he knew it wouldn’t lead to anything good. He needs the memory gun now more than ever, which is unfortunately currently in pieces.

“How about… no,” Stan growled. “Incest doesn’t sound very sexy to me.”  _ I have a fucking niece and the last thing I need is for her to get hurt.  _ He decided to keep that thought to himself.

“But it’s our most popular subgenre!” Michael argued.

“Look, buddy. I, too, have some ideas. So let me share some, alright? I bet I can make it worth your while.” Michael looked like he had another retort coming but shut his mouth quickly. Instead, he smiled a toothy smile and folded his hands behind his back.

“I’m listening.” In one second, thoughts whizzed by in Stan’s head as he concocted an idea that will get his rocks off, impress the girl, and make this video a hit.  _ Vegas. Casinos. Gambling. Cards. Poker. Strip poker. Older man. Young girl. Next to each other. Next door. Next-door neighbors. Relationships. Friendship. Best friends. _

“We’re next-door neighbors and we’ve been good friends for a long while now, sometimes flirty. I come over and offer to teach her poker and she’s in. We gamble and make it strip poker and then we fuck. How’s that?” Michael stared at him and stroked his chin.

“Where’s the taboo?”

“The taboo is that I’m an old man and she’s a young lady. That enough for ya?” Michael paused and then smiled, looking very tired now. 

“Yes. We’ll go with that one.” Stan folded his arms and gave a curt nod.

“Good.”

Michael walked away to a group of what Stan thinks are writers and prayed he won't have to memorize an entire screenplay. He took one more glance at the girl, still reading the magazine. A moment of bravery shot through him and he took advantage of it, sucking in some air through his nose. He marched on over, almost feeling like a soldier heading out to war. 

Time seemed to slow down as he walked. Every step he took felt heavy and he had plenty of time to think about his introduction.  _ Should I say "hey?" No, too casual. Hi? Hello? How's it hanging? I need something quippy. "Hey, cutie." Ugh, creepy. Don't act too eager. Just be nice. Be yourself. You can't do both at once, idiot! She's looking at you. Say something!  _

"Hiya, toots."  _ FUCKING IDIOT!  _ "My name's Stan, but you can call me your best filming partner ever!" He flashed a lopsided grin and a finger gun, giving the most charm he could. 

She stared at him with eyebrows slightly raised. She seemed a little surprised at him and took a few seconds to take a better look at him. Her eyes roamed over his figure, top to bottom to top again. After a while, she closed her mag and set it aside. 

“Cherry Poppin.”

“...Cherry. Poppin?” Stan asked, jaw slacked.

“Mhm.”

Stan slapped his knee while letting out a huge guffaw, startling some of the crew. He keeled over as he laughed, coughing a bit in-between chortles.

“Holy Moses! T-That’s the best porn name I’ve ever heard!” Cherry leaned back in shock before tucking away a lock of hair.

“N-Not really. It just had a nice ring to it.”

“No, it’s great! Shit, how did you come up with that?”

“I mean,” Cherry gestured to her hair and makeup. “I like red and I guess I kind of like cherries. Cherry is also slang for virginity and uh… Yeah. Nothing more to say. It’s not very creative.”

“Hey, you’re talking to a guy who loves puns!”

"Huh. Is that, by any chance, the same guy who was on Cash Wheel last year?” Stan blinked in surprise.

"Y-Yeah. You've seen it?"  _ Wait, didn't I strip on-camera? How much did she see? _

"Yeah. My mom sent me a clip of it from her Facebook. You were taking off your clothes for a cash-shower."  _ Oh, fuck. _

"Oh. Well, uh," he gave an awkward chuckle. "Did I leave a good impression?" She shrugged.

"I was entertained. When I visited Mom, we decided to watch the episode on YouTube together. I'm surprised they let you on the set in the first place."

"Eh, it was easy," Stan said with a wave. "When you're old, you get to do whatever you want if you play your cards right." She gave a small laugh.

"How'd you do it? I'd like to know some tricks for later in the future."

"Well, the way I did it was pretty simple."

"Oh yeah? What'd you do?" She leaned forward, revealing some cleavage. Stan had to swallow, thinking in the back of his head that she was probably doing it on purpose. Why would she do that though? To test him?

"... I faked a heart attack."

She gaped. And tossed her head back in laughter. Stan let out a few chuckles with her, allowing himself to get comfortable. 

"Why didn't they take to the hospital?" She asked, stifling chuckles in-between words.

"Beats me. I said the only way I could be saved was to put me on TV." 

"And they listened? Oh my god…" Cherry leaned over a table on her right and rested her forehead in her palm. Stan rested against it as well, his palms bracing his weight.

"Hey, I ain't complaining."

"Good Lord…" Cherry exhaled, cupping her fingers over her eyes. Stan could see dimples forming in her smile, another charming detail. 

He couldn't believe it. He could believe it. He made a girl, an extremely pretty girl, laugh. Not a coy, polite laugh. Not an awkward, smile-and-they-will-go-away, chuckle. An actual laugh. His low self-esteem had risen up a level. His abrasive confidence that overshadows it in a facade is now shining brighter than ever. Does he dare take the risk to flirt with her even more?

Yes. He dares. 

"I talked with the director about the scene we are doing." Cherry slightly adjusted her posture, now resting her forearm on the table and her head perked up. The smile on her lips ever present, unlike the one that was once in her eyes. Shit, maybe he shouldn't have dared after all.

"Ah. Yes. We were supposed to be doing incest."

"Emphasis on the 'supposed to' part," Stan added. She blinked in… surprise? Shock? He couldn't tell. 

"Change of plans. We're doing-"

"Change of plans!" The sound clasped hands echoed alongside a grating voice. Stan groaned as he turned his attention to Michael, now walking over to the two. "I had a talk with the writers and we thought 'Hmm, we've been doing too much incest content lately. Maybe we should spice things up.' So guess what? You two are neighbors and good friends, and you will be playing strip poker! Isn't that great?"

Cherry hesitated before giving a shrug. 

"I have no complaints here."

"Same here. Thanks for taking my idea," Stan added, giving Michael a glare. Michael shuffled his feet, clearly taken off guard when he realized he won't get away with stealing the credit. He gave a tiny cough.

"Yes, well, glad we are all on the same page." And with that, he walked away, allowing Stan to relax again.

"So, that was your idea?" Stan hummed in question before realizing Cherry was asking him something. 

"Yeah. I don't about you, but something about incest just rubs me the wrong way. Don't know why," he said sarcastically. She snorted, shaking her head.

"It does get boring after a while. I'll tell you that."

"Glad I could shake things up a little for ya." He flashed her a grin, one she returned with playfulness sparkling in her eyes. He swallowed a lump in his throat.

Two claps sounded throughout the room, wringing Stan's attention away from Cherry to Michael. Again.

"Alright! Places, everyone! Let's get filming!"

Cherry gave a sigh and stood up from her chair, setting aside her magazine. She turned her back towards Stan and began to disrobe. 

"Alright," she murmured, dropping the robe onto the floor. She turned back around to face Stan, revealing a cute, checkered, red-and-white dress, the skirt cutting off mid-thigh. "Show time."

  
  
  



	2. Ford's Experience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter here we gooooooo! This time, it's Ford's POV! Yayyyyyyy!
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING:  
> Homophobia, f-slur, internalized homophobia, ableism, brief mention of violence, emotional abuse

Ford watched Stan leave him behind and head on over to Michael, who was chatting with the camera crew. Stan’s words echoed in his mind. The little ‘tch, yeah.’ He didn’t understand what he meant. Why was Stan in such a bad mood? Wasn’t he excited by all this? That he gets to film a porno with an objectively attractive woman?

Ford looked at the woman in question, taking in the view. Honestly, anyone would be sexually attracted to her. Ford could understand her appeal. She ticked off all the boxes of what society deemed beautiful. 

So why wasn’t Stan smiling? Why did he look so angry? Was he mad at Ford? What for?

He shook his head. Ford just couldn’t understand Stan sometimes. That became clear in middle school when he started getting obsessed with girls, as his monologuing suggested. And perhaps boys, if Stan wasn’t so secretive. Ford smiled, fondly remembering their recent conversations where Stan recounted his previous adventures regarding his love-life. He seemed much happier, like a weight has been lifted. Secrets, as it turns out, aren’t that fun to keep if you have no one to confide with. 

Still, as much as Ford loved to hear Stan ramble on and on about his childish crushes in school and at home, it doesn’t deter Ford’s confusion. Why were these people so appealing? All this talk of kissing, hugging, holding hands. The last time he tried to hold someone’s hand, they screamed. Maybe he was cursed. Just cursed to never know love, let alone be a part of it. 

_ Dinner became awkward. Ever since Stan was kicked out- no, ever since Stan left, dinner became a battle of wits. The pressure to be the good child doubled in weight and pressed its heavy self on Ford’s shoulders. From now on, every little step, every little breath he took, every word he uttered, was a matter of life and death.  _

_ Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. Pa wouldn’t kill him. But then again, perhaps he would kick him out. He did it so easily to Stanley. Who’s to say he couldn’t just as easily, if not more so, do the same to Stanford?  _

_ He pushed his fork inside the chicken and shoved the morsel into his mouth, trying not to grimace at the texture. He learned long ago not to complain about the food given to him when he was just a child. Don’t make faces. Don’t complain about how the food has the wrong taste. Wrong texture. Wrong whatever. Pa worked too hard to get bread on the table. Don’t complain, or you’re going straight to bed.  _

_ He swallowed the mush, which was easier said than done— time for the next slice. Family dinners were the worst. It was always a workout when he ate at home. Ironically, working out was easier than this. Ford had taken it up to please his Pa, fearing that now they’ve lost the strong brother of the family, Pa would be upset that Ford couldn’t support them all. Plus, aching muscles and sweat served as a great distraction from his feelings regarding Stan. He can’t waste his time thinking whether or not his feelings are grief, sadness, loneliness, relief, depression, or all of the above.  _

_ “So, Ford, now that you’re going to college, any thoughts on meeting anyone special there?” _

_ The question, so seemingly out of the blue, shook Ford out of his thoughts. Did he hear that right? _

_ “I’m sorry,” he apologized immediately. “I wasn’t listening. Could you repeat that?” Pa grumbled under his breath. Ford winced a little, worried he might have to hear another curse-laden lecture about respect and all that. _

_ “Well,” continued Ma, “you never seemed to be interested in anyone at your school, but I figured the people here were just not smart enough for ya.” _

_ Ford attempted to counter that statement, arguing that no, he was just too busy with his studies is all. But Pa interrupted him. _

_ “Smart move, but don’t go too smart. The smarter the woman, the bigger pain in the ass you’ll get.” Ma shifted her eyes down at her food, looking as if she wanted to argue with him but didn’t have the strength to. Arguments with Pa usually result in loss. He always had the last word. _

_ “W-Well,” Ford stuttered, trying again, now realizing how difficult it was to piece his words together. “I just… Well, uh, I just didn’t h-have the time for it. S-Studies, you know? School and… stuff.” _

_ Ma nodded, patient as ever. A direct contrast to Pa.  _

_ “Was there not at least  _ one  _ girl you had your eyes on? I’m sure there was. Like um,” she prodded her food with a fork, trying to remember his classmates. “Oh! Laura Hudsy. She was just behind you in the ranks, wasn’t she? Smart lass, she was.” _

_ “Ah, well. I don’t know. I don’t think she was… my type.” Did he have a type? If so, what was it? And how would he know? _

_ “Ford.” He winced. It was Pa. _

_ “You aren’t a fag. Are you?” Ford never knew where that word came from, but it always left a bad taste in his mouth. Why? He couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t gay. … Was he? He never looked at guys. He never looked at girls either. He never looked at anyone.  _

_ “N-No,” Ford said, trying his hardest to remain resolute, confident in his manliness that no, he is not at all gay. “No, Pa. I’m not.” _

_ Pa grunted and went back to eating. Ford resisted the urge to breathe a sigh of relief. Bullet dodged. Conversation over. _

It’s not like he wasn’t completely disinterested in sex. He had just never found the right person, so to speak. Eventually, he will. Someone always does. The right person will come along. Yet, that, in of itself, never happened. Fiddleford might have been the one. But even so, that was debatable, and Ford would’ve been more than happy to remain friends with him. Best friends. Partners for life. Romance wasn’t necessary when you had the greatest co-worker/buddy by your side. 

But then one time, he was offered sex. Something he only heard through stories. This sort of… anomaly. Why was everyone so obsessed with it when masturbation was just easier? Was it having someone else do it for you? Was it the pride in knowing you could make someone feel good? If there was a class regarding sex itself, he would take it. But the only educational opportunity he had been given was in Anatomy and Physiology when they studied the reproductive system. Damn education system. It was the 1970’s for Pete’s sake! Surely they were more progressive than that, right?

So to be offered sex by these groups of girls, these objectively attractive girls that he never thought would even glance at him, who were wanting to repay him for helping them with their next Physics exam. Well, who was he, if not a scientist willing to learn?

_ His jaw ached and he was almost out of breath, but the taste was inviting, if not the encouragement, which was stellar. Praise was something he couldn’t get enough of, and the lady before him, graciously offering her nether regions to him, was giving him twice the amount of all he had ever received in his life.  _

_ “Ah, that’s it. That’s so good, Fordsy!” She threw her head back with a loud moan, followed by laughter from her friends that surrounded him. He groaned into her pussy, happy to know he was doing good and making her feel good.  _

_ “Be sure to use those fingers of yours, baby,” said a girl on his right, who was dragging his hand from the girl’s hip to her core. He let up his actions with a gasp before tracing his finger around her area. _

_ “That’s right. Make sure you get it nice and wet before you stick it in. And don’t forget this little guy right here.” She pointed at a small little nub that was just above the vagina. Ford wasn’t sure if he had seen that earlier. It must’ve been hiding until now.  _

_ “Is… Is that the clitoris?” He asked. A gentle sound of giggles echoed around him like music.  _

_ “Smart boy,” he shivered at that. “That is indeed the clitoris. Be sure to give it a little something, alright, sweetie?” Ford didn’t recall them being fans of nicknames, but they sure were laying it on thick now.  _

_ Uncertain of what to do, he decided to rub the tip of his index finger over it and gauge his partner’s reaction. She leaned her head back down to watch Ford, perhaps just as curious as he was. He rubbed it slowly, gaining speed over time and occasionally bringing it down to gather more slick from her core and slide it up again. Eventually, her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing became labored again. Her head rolled to the side, and tiny little moans bubbled out of her, which he kept his ears perked for.  _

_ After a bit of teasing (was it teasing? He wasn’t so sure what he was doing. Only that it was making her feel good), he dragged his finger down again, now intending to gently push it inside.  _

_ He took his time, keeping his gaze on her face and watch for any signs of pain. They had warned him earlier that the vagina was extremely sensitive and should be treated with care. Makes sense. Her eyes fluttered open and then closed as if she had forgotten he was going to finger her. He brushed his thumb over her clit, remembering the girls’ reminder that the clitoris was the most important organ and should receive the most attention. _

_ It was warm inside. So, so warm and wet and tight. The walls wrapped around his digit were pulsing slightly, which he could understand why from a scientific point of view. Once he had it fully sheathed, he paused and allowed her to adjust to the length and let him relish the feel of her cunt around him. After a few seconds, he figured it was time and slowly pulled it back, along with his thumb, which was dragging down, creating a small bit of friction. He repeated his actions, slowly pushing in and out. Rubbing his thumb up and down. He gradually built up speed until after a few minutes, he was thrusting his fingers in and her beautiful voice rang out through the room.  _

_ “Damn, you learn quick,” praised a girl on his left. “I think he can push in another, don’t you agree?” She asked, her question obviously directed at the girl receiving the attention. She let out a weak ‘uh-huh’ that bordered between a moan and actual words. _

_ “Well, you heard her. Go ahead, Ford.” He obeyed, slowing down so he could push in another digit as slowly as he could. It went in quicker than he thought it would, which didn’t go unnoticed by the audience. _

_ “Damn! She’s soaking! I bet you could put in one more.” _

_ “Hell, I bet he could put in all six of fingers.” _

_ “Fuck, imagine getting fisted by him. I don’t think I could last five seconds.” _

_ Their compliments got the better of him, and Ford held back a groan by shoving his face back down to her pussy, which was, for the most part, unsuccessful. A chorus of laughter reached his ears along with a keening sort of sound. He sucked hard on the clit, accidentally letting out a slurp every now and then. His own voice betrayed him by bubbling out every few seconds. _

_ “Shit, man, are you getting off from this?” Asked a girl behind him. “Wait, could you be jacking off?” _

_ “No, nothing going on down there,” said the one on his left, taking a glance down at his pants. Ford felt the heat rise to his chest and his cheeks from the attention. Well, they’ve always been there ever since they started, but now they’re more noticeable. _

_ “Does that mean this is turning him on? That’s new.” He heard them chuckle a bit before another retort followed. _

_ “What, you gonna cum from this? Cum from giving oral?” _

_ “Well, he  _ is _ a virgin. Shouldn’t be that surprising.” _

_ “Hey, give him a little credit. I’m surprised he didn’t stain his pants earlier when she took her clothes off.” Bouts of laughter rang in his ears—stinging, painful, grating laughter. Shame flooded over him. It was humiliating the way these women were making fun of him and his total lack of experience. It felt… good? _

_ It felt good? Being humiliated like this? It never has. He would know. He, of all people, would know. But for some reason, their bullying made arousal course through his veins and settle in his core. His dick, already hard, twitched in his pants, his bulge prominent. _

_ “Hey, I think I saw his dick twitch.” Shit, he didn’t realize he was that obvious. He whimpered, a pathetic sound, but refused to stop his ministrations. The girl’s pleasure came first, as they’ve told him earlier. _

_ “Really? Let me see.” The girl behind him stooped down and wrapped her hands around his midriff to unbuckle him. She pulled his cock and a gasp out with her hands, and Ford restrained himself by gripping his left hand tighter on the girl’s hip.  _

_ “Oho shit! He’s leaking!”  _

_ “Hey, how fast do you think he’ll cum? Five seconds?” He muffled a moan, a very high-pitched one. _

_ “I don’t think I’ll even have to touch him to make that happen.” Another moan. They were practically wrecking him at this point.  _

_ “Oh my god, he is getting off from this!” _

_ “I think he likes being humiliated.” _

_ “Really? What a masochist!” He almost lost it. By this point, he had a third finger in, and they were thrusting at an almost impossible speed, tearing moans and shrieks and howls from his partner’s throat.  _

_ It shouldn’t feel good, being made fun of. But the violent twitching of his dick and the rocking of his hips betrayed his ego. He couldn’t deny it, no matter how much he wanted to for the sake of his pride. He wanted more. More praises. More insults. A walking paradox. He wanted to be hurt and healed at the same time. In a way, these feelings were fascinating. He would have to conduct some research on this. Perhaps he could later ask these girls again for their help. _

_ Soon, he felt the rate of the pulsing from the vaginal walls change their rhythm, and a moan, gradually building up in both volume and octaves, rang out.  _

_ “Oh! Oh!! OH!!! I-I’M CUMMING! I-” Then he couldn’t move his fingers at all and he halted himself, using every bit of his strength not to move his lips around her mouth but keeping it on there, all the same, to help her ride out her orgasm. Time seemed to have paused and he opened his eyes, his sight met with a work of art. There was nothing more beautiful, he concluded, than the look of absolute pleasure and bittersweet pain on someone’s face. _

_ Eventually, after a short bit of silence, another moan broke out of her, her voice wrecked and shaking, as she forced him away. Ford pulled back his fingers, trying hard to be both gentle and quick. Her juices dripped down his chin and he attempted to clean them with both his tongue and the sleeve of his shirt.  _

_ A hand ruffled his hair and he looked up at the girl on his right. _

_ “Good boy, Fordsy.” He whimpered again. _

_ “Look at that. He still held on,” said the one on his left. Confusion rattled in his brain until he realized what they were talking about. He looked down at his cock, now completely red and swollen, leaking like a faulty faucet.  _

_ “Hey, you earned it.” One girl shuffled her position and sat in front of him on the bed, placing an elbow on her leg and resting her chin in her palm. The rest followed suit, all comfortable and watching him intently. He had a funny feeling where this was going, if the shivers in his body had anything to say about it. But not yet. He couldn’t risk it. He had to hear it straight from them. _

_ “Well, go on. Give us a show, cutie.” He blanked a little. But once the shock had passed, which, to his credit, only lasted a second, an open-mouthed smile tugged at his lips. _

_ “Yes,” he whispered, giving a shaky nod and slowly brought a hand to his cock. “Yes…” _

_ He brushed his fingers around it and a weak moan broke out from him before he could stop it, already close but determined to give them a long, worthwhile performance. They deserve one, after all. _

Ford smiled at the memory, nostalgia washing over him. Was it weird to feel nostalgic over something so lewd? Well, Ford is weird, so maybe this is something he shouldn’t fret over. Nevertheless, things felt easier at the time. Sex felt easy. It was easy to offer. Easy to take. As much of a performance it was, he felt at his most natural doing it. Much like how he felt at home when solving puzzles, reading sci-fi and medieval fantasy novels, playing DD&MD, and studying for his favorite courses. 

Sex was definitely unexpected and new and exciting. In all honesty, it felt like a new discovery. After that incident, he had to have more. Experience all the different types of sex. All sorts of foreplay, all the different kinks. There was so much to learn! And not to mention how relaxed he felt when all is said and done. He would walk home, something he learned to do without shame, and get a good night’s sleep. A complete 8-hour rest! 

Of course, he couldn’t keep up the charade for long. Rumors fly, and being known as the ‘local college slut’ is apparently not a title one should wear proudly, despite what he had heard before. Needless to say, Fiddleford had to bring out the med-kit and that was the last ‘sexscapade’ Ford experienced, until over half a year later after the portal incident when Ford was feeling particularly lonely and visited a high-end brothel. He later wrote down in a secret journal that he personally needs sex to seek out companionship. Who knew? 

Then he went back to the game of courtship and gained incredibly intimate knowledge of monsters, aliens, sentient-robots, and more. Secretly, he feels proud, knowing that very few people in his dimension, if any, have had such enlightening experiences the way he had. He even managed to steal a few toys from them for keepsake. How could he resist? They were technological masterpieces and useful tools for satiating his libido. He would show them off to Stanley if he weren’t so ashamed. That would involve telling stories about how he got them and that means lying and Ford isn’t very good at fabricating stories to cover up the truth the way Stan could and-

Oh fuck. Didn’t he just tell Stanley detailed accounts of his ‘adventures’ from college? Shit, he’s never drinking again. 

Before he could chastise himself, a voice called out to him, effectively stopping him from his self-deprecation.

“Hello there! It’s nice to meet you. You must be Ford! I’m Michael Von Kich and I’m the director!” His head shot up and he could see a blonde man standing before him with his hand outstretched, awaiting a handshake. Ford gave what he nonverbally asked for with a polite, social-customs-abiding smile.

“Likewise,” he said, going over the scripts in his head for the perfect social interaction. Michael smiled even brighter and then looked down. The grin dropped and the familiar look of shock passed over his face when he saw what made Ford so unique.  _ Ah, this again. _

“Oh, I see you’ve noticed my physical deformity. Nothing to be afraid of! There’s no pain and such. If anything, it only makes acquiring gloves more difficult.” That’s putting it a bit too lightly, he had to admit. And gloves are far from the only thing he has to worry about. But that’s a topic not suited for small talk. A few seconds passed as Michael processed his new-found knowledge of Ford’s polydactylism before the trivia clicked into his brain and he went back to his smiling self, only now more awkward. Clearly, it had shaken him up.

“Wow...well, uh… It certainly does make it more difficult.” Ford felt that he wasn’t talking about gloves but decided not to pry. “Uh, anyways! We were talking and have figured that we would like it if you participated in the next shoot. Are you interested?”

Wow, Stan wasn’t kidding.

“Me?” Ford asked, wondering why they would want him. Do they really think he’s handsome? That it’s nice he’s experienced with sex? 

“Why, of course! Other than your hands, you are incredibly good-looking!” That probably wasn’t meant to be an insult, but it twists painfully in his chest.

“I see. Well, thank you.”

“Indeed! I’m sure Cherry Poppin wouldn’t mind. That’s her other there, see?” Michael pointed at the woman in question, now talking with Stan. “A fine one, ain’t she? Would you like to film with her?”

Ah, filming. Ford isn’t so sure about doing that. Have sex with her? Eh, why not? He doubts anything new would happen, but there’s no harm in pursuing it. But if it’s shooting a porno they want, then he’d have to decline.

“I’m sorry, but I will have to turn the offer down. Thank you, anyway.” This certainly shocked Michael, if the blank look on his face had anything to say.

“W-Well, there are other girls I could call. Wait here!” He shuffled off and then came back with a white binder. He opened it and revealed a list of various girls’ profiles, all gazing at the viewer with a flirtatious smile in their nudity. Ford perused them with curiosity.

“If you see one you’d like to film with, tell me and we’ll call them up here. I’m sure they won’t mind.” Again with the filming and stuff. And again, Ford has to say no.

“They are beautiful, but as I’ve said before, I’ll have to decline.” Ford handed the binder back to him with a gentle smile, secretly praying that the conversation is nearing its end.

“Oh…” Michael mumbled. 

“Are… Are you gay?” He asked Ford. 

Before he could answer, Michael began to stutter. “N-Not that there’s anything wrong with that! Love who you love! I’m, haha, I-I’m not homophobic or anything! I think gay people are wonderful, you know! They’re so funny and have the most unique sense of fashion!”

Ford was certain that Michael’s words contradicted his beliefs, but what is there to say? Still, Michael was wrong. Ford just didn’t want to film.

“No, I’m not gay.” Michael let out a small sigh, deflating a little.

“Then, what are you?” he asked, unsure of what to make of Ford. Ford paused, thinking about the different labels that would fit himself the best. Conversations with Dipper and Mabel fleeted by in his memories.

_ “Have you ever been in love, Grunkle Ford?” Mabel asked, her eyes shining brighter. She must be looking for a story of romance. He chuckled at her eagerness. _

_ “No. I’m sorry, dear,” he apologized while ruffling her hair. What was he apologizing for? He can’t think of why but he felt he had to. _

_ “Really?” said Dipper, in… amazement? No, shock. It must be shock, as it always was. “Not even a little crush?” _

_ “Well, maybe with Fiddleford, but that is a bit of a stretch. Other than that, I can’t think of anyone.” _

_ “Oh! Does that mean you’re-” _

And there was the word. The perfect word. No interest in dates, let alone marriage, let alone  _ romance.  _ Sexual attraction a mystery to him, one he could never figure out. Happiness welled up in him the moment it reached his ears, rapidly increasing the more he learned about it, the more he learned about himself. Finally! Something to describe what he had felt his entire life. Or rather, what he didn’t feel. What he didn’t need to feel.

He looked up at Michael with a smile.

“I’m asexual.”

“... What?”

“It means I don’t experience sexual attraction. I’m also aromantic as well.” He expected understanding from him, not more silence. Or more barraging.

“... You don’t feel love?” Well, that was unexpected and a little hurtful.

“No, I do! Just not… romantically.” More hesitation and, instead of letting Michael ask more intrusive questions, Ford interjected. “Look. I’m just not interested in filming. Leave that to my brother, please. And besides, we will have to return to the hotel soon.”

“... B-But. You had sex before. Lots of it, right?”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Did… you not like it? Just… couldn’t scratch that itch? Or maybe you have a particular kink we need to fulfill?”

“No, I did enjoy it. Hence why I have experience. I’m just not interested in  _ people _ .” At this point, Ford wanted Michael to stop talking and leave him alone forever. He was making this way more difficult than he has to. But how will he make him shut up? Does he really want Ford to participate that badly?

Yes, he concluded. And if it really must come to this, then he has no choice.

“How about this? If Cherry wants to, I’ll film with her. But only if  _ she  _ wants to, okay?”

Michael paused before giving a tired smile.

“Okay.” And with that, he finally walked off. Ford breathed out a sigh of relief, sinking into the couch. He just now realized how tense his shoulders felt and rubbed one with his hand. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that now things became complicated. Too complicated for Ford’s liking. He will have to figure out a way to hide his identity should Cherry take up on his offer.

He placed a hand on his chin, brainstorming an idea of how to do just that. But before he could reach a conclusion, claps rang out, startling him. It was Michael announcing the start of the shoot.

Well, the idea can wait. He can at least watch for a while until then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut counts, even if it's a flashback, right? Right. Sorry, the filming will start in the third chapter. I promise! Pinky promise!  
> Also, Michael is the worst, and Stan and Ford are the best. And Filbrick is a dick.  
> Ford is ace, but in this case, he's sex-favorable ace. Like, he doesn't get hungry but he does enjoy eating. But he could also just photosynthesize if he wants to. Idk. I'm allo and wanna write Ford smut but I also headcanon he's ace. Sooooo yeah.


End file.
